Convict and Conscript
by QueenOfTheDreamers87
Summary: Sequel to Revision and Rescript. Voldemort is the Dark Lord ascending, with time-travelling Hermione Granger by his side as the Dark Lady. But not everyone is thrilled about Voldemort's new vision for the wizarding world. When Odysseus Siegel makes a reappearance with a warning, Voldemort and Hermione are forced to draw from the other's courage and ambition. Tomione/Volmione.
1. What It Means

_November 1969_

_You hate seafood. How you are managing this is beyond me._

Hermione thumbed her Protean stone and smiled a little. She picked up her fork and poked at some of the red snapper in her stew. She dragged her thumb over her stone and thought back at Voldemort,

_I don't mind this Bouillabaisse. I've had decent versions in France. Dobby's is just fine._

_I want you to be comfortable, _he thought back immediately. Hermione looked up at him and smiled a little bit. She nodded and whispered,

"I'm fine."

"My Lord," said Sylvie Malfoy from across the table, "is the food to your liking?"

"I was just thinking about the food," Voldemort murmured, "and how much hospitality you and Abraxas have shown to Hermione and me… me most especially. But I wish to let the both of you know, Sylvie, Abraxas… I've procured a home of my own."

Sylvie's eyes went wide, and she looked to her husband. Hermione wasn't sure what to make of Sylvie's reaction, so she rather frantically rubbed at her Protean stone and asked Voldemort,

_What is she thinking?_

_She's thinking that having Lord Voldemort based at Malfoy Manor has been quite a prestigious marker for her family, and she's about to lose that prestige,_ Voldemort thought back. He cleared his throat and assured Abraxas,

"You're still my right-hand man. Let there be no doubt whatsoever about that."

"Wh-Where is the home?" Abraxas asked shakily, and Voldemort said in a calm voice,

"It is a gothic mansion outside Marlborough. The Muggle owners have suddenly decided that it would be far better for them to reside in a comfortable townhouse in London. They're city people now."

Hermione shifted in her chair. She'd made her feelings on all of this quite plain to Lord Voldemort. He knew she didn't support the idea of Imperiusing Muggles into leaving their home so that Voldemort and Hermione could move in. But they'd already argued about it, and he'd insisted this was better than booting someone off of land to build something new. He'd asked her whether she was truly his ally or not, and he'd reminded her that he'd found thoughts in her head of having come back in time with the intention of destroying him.

So she'd caved, and she'd agreed to the idea of them commandeering a Muggle mansion in the countryside. There were worse things, she told herself. It could be so much worse with him, with Lord Voldemort.

He'd spent the past months spreading the message that he longed for a future for the wizarding world which involved an integration scheme to bring together Muggle-borns, Half-Bloods, and Purebloods under one wizarding umbrella. He wanted a Magical world where everyone had a place, but a Magical world completely isolated from the Muggle world. He wished for Magic to be given its due honour as the gift it was in everyone in whom it made itself manifest. This was the message he was promoting. So far, he had gained many new friends and allies with this message.

Abraxas Malfoy wasn't the only one calling him _My Lord_ these days. Yaxley, Rookwood, Lestrange, Avery, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Rowle, Mulciber, and even Cygnus Black - even after the death of Bellatrix - were steadfastly attached to Voldemort and referred to him reverently as _My Lord_.

"When will you move into your new home, My Lord?" asked Abraxas Malfoy, and Hermione jumped in.

"Everything's ready, Mr Malfoy. We were just waiting for the right time to tell the two of you about it."

"My goodness. How we shall miss the both of you." Sylvie's eyes actually watered then as she stared at Hermione. Sylvie and Hermione had become, if not friends, then at least compatriots over the last months. The two of them consulted one another on hair and fashion and often chatted about their significant others. Sylvie sang along with Voldemort's piano playing sometimes as Abraxas and Hermione looked on, each admiring their respective partner. Things would certainly be different now, with Hermione and Voldemort moving off to their own home.

"And have you got a House-Elf?" Abraxas asked. Voldemort bristled a little and said,

"The Placement Agency is working on it. I didn't like their initial suggestion - an old creature with a sour demeanour - and Hermione, well…"

_If you had it your way, you'd Scour a mansion all on your own, _he thought through the stone, before spooning some Bouillabaisse into his mouth and saying sternly,

"Hermione's got unconventional views about House-Elves."

"I just wish witches and wizards would at least consider doing the work on their own," Hermione said primly, sipping at her white wine. Sylvie gave her a strange look, and Abraxas cleared his throat.

"You and Dobby have always gotten on so well," he noted. Hermione nodded vigorously.

"Yes, we have."

"Do you intend on cleaning a great big mansion all on your own, then?" Sylvie Malfoy asked, poking at her lobster in her Bouillabaisse. Hermione licked her lips and said softly,

"The Dark Lord and I still haven't quite sorted out the House-Elf situation. We'll get a handle on it."

_We're getting a House-Elf,_ came his voice through the ether. Hermione huffed and dug her thumb into her Protean-linked stone.

_I can clean my own house._

_Not that house. It's too much. _

_I don't want an unpaid servant, Tom, _Hermione shot back. _I'll only accept the services of a House-Elf if we have one placed, free the Elf, and have them work for us under their own volition as a -_

_We'll discuss this later. _Suddenly Voldemort tucked his stone into his pocket, and Hermione felt a dull thud inside her head. She frowned and put her own stone into her small handbag, and she realised Sylvie and Abraxas Malfoy were staring at her and Voldemort.

"This Bouillabaisse is delicious," Hermione said, spearing a roast potato. "Sometimes I forget how much I actually enjoy seafood."

* * *

"Well," Voldemort said, standing in the foyer of Foss House. "Here we are. Home."

"Home," Hermione repeated. She turned around in a slow circle and breathed in deeply. She seemed to be taking in the heavy dark walnut paneling for the first time, examining the grand staircase that wound in a semicircle up to the first floor with its white, veined marble steps. She moved over towards one of the walls, her low heels clicking on the marble floors that matched the stairs, and she reached her fingers out to the large, elegant pastoral painting that was hanging between the foyer and the lounge. It showed a scene of horses dashing through a field, a willow tree swaying in a summer breeze.

The painting had been ordinary until Voldemort had enchanted it. He'd done a lot of work to this house. He'd gotten rid of most of the Muggles' furnishings, allowing them to move a good deal of their furniture and all of their personal belongings to their new townhouse in London. He'd replaced all of it, for he had loads of money these days. Through a pointed arched doorway was the first of three lounges on the ground level, a lovely buttercream room with brown furnishings and one of two pianos in the house. Voldemort simply must have pianos. The one in the buttercream parlour was a simple oak upright piano, owing to the casual nature of the room. He envisioned mornings in there with Hermione munching on rosemary scones whilst he plunked out Mozart's _Rondo alla Turca_ and the sun shone brightly outside the windows, and -

"Tom?"

He jolted to attention as Hermione smiled a little at him. Her smile did not reach her eyes. She stared upstairs, and he didn't need to push past her powerful Occlumency to know what she was thinking. This house was immense. This wasn't a little flat. These weren't suites inside someone else's house. This was a proper mansion. She couldn't take care of this all on her own. Not properly. She couldn't clean it and cook three meals a day and be happy.

"I will ask the Placement Agency to get an Elf who's amenable to being Freed and continuing on with us," Tom agreed. "I'm not even sure that's something they do. I'm not sure that's a request they will have ever had before. But I'll try. Because you know I love you."

Hermione let out a shaking breath. She reached into the handbag she had across her chest and pulled out her stone. She held it in her hand, and Tom cleared his throat as he pulled his own stone out of his pocket and clutched it in his fist.

_I am your most loyal Death Eater,_ she thought right at him, her eyes serious. He studied her gaze, its caramel colour, and he nodded. He remembered the first time he'd ever seen her. They'd been masked, and she'd been a mystery. He'd almost killed her that night. He'd almost killed her the night he'd figured out that she'd initially come back in time to defeat him. But then he'd seen how she'd fallen in love with him. And she'd let him into her mind over and over since then - sometimes waking, sometimes sleeping - and he'd seen the truth over and over again. He'd seen everything now. He'd seen her whole past life. He'd seen how deeply she'd once hated him. And he knew how intensely she now adored him.

_You are my Dark Lady_, he thought back at her. _Odysseus gave you that Time-Turner to make me whole. Without you, I'd be broken. With you, I can be complete._

Her eyes welled heavily, and she stalked through the foyer. She went through the other side, through the arched entryway that led to the elegant emerald dining room with its long rough-hewn table and velvet-seated chairs. She dragged her fingers over the curtains as she passed them, and she went by the powder room and the coat closet and the side stairwell that led upstairs. She passed through to the midnight blue parlour, which was significantly heavier than the buttercream room on the other side of the house. In here was a fireplace crafted of stout black marble, along with black lacquered furniture and silver-trimmed midnight blue curtains and rugs. There was a shiny black grand piano in the corner of the room, and Hermione gestured towards it.

"Please," she said, "play me something. Since we're home."

"A homecoming piece," he nodded. "Yes, all right. I've got just the thing."

"Have you?" Hermione pulled out her wand and aimed it at the black fireplace. "_Incendio._"

Flames burst from her wand and illuminated the space as they filled the grate. The midnight blue parlour was bathed in a warm glow, and Voldemort cracked his knuckles as he went over to the piano. He sat on the bench and stared at his reflection in the piano's high-gloss finish. He was handsome now, more handsome than he'd been since before he'd made his first Horcrux as a teenaged boy. He had sharp, high cheekbones and a perfectly sculpted chin. His dark, thick waves had grown in thick and fell rather charmingly over his forehead. His brown eyes glistened with life. His lips were full and dark pink. His skin had a flush of vitality, and it was smooth with virtually no wrinkling. These days, Voldemort felt like he looked even better than his actual age. He didn't feel like he was almost forty-three. He felt _good_. He felt strong. He looked strong.

Hermione's love for him, and his love for her, had healed him. That much was obvious. How that had happened was unclear. Odysseus Siegel had seemed unsurprised about the entire notion in the brief time Voldemort had had to mention it, and in fact Odysseus had insisted that Hermione would make Voldemort better. But Voldemort had not expected this. He stared down at his hands and realised they looked like those of a young man. Lean, sinewy, rosy. He peeled back the lid of the piano and said softly to Hermione,

"When I had scars and a drooping eyelid and sallow flesh, you thought me _almost handsome._ And you kissed me and you made love to me even though I was hideous."

He looked up, and Hermione blinked at him from beside the piano. She tucked her wand away and visibly swallowed. She shook her head and whispered,

"It's your power. It's your… intelligence. Your wit. Your ambition. Your shrewd genius, your -"

"So, it's because I'm a Slytherin," Voldemort teased, tapping a key lightly with his fingertip. Hermione guffawed and noted,

"I've known a fair few Slytherins for whom I did not care, Master."

"Don't call me that. Not when it's just us." He went serious then, and she nodded.

"Force of habit. We were at the Malfoys'."

"Mmm." Voldemort curled up his lips a little and chewed his lip. "I aired our laundry about the House-Elf situation. I ought not to have. It isn't proper for an ascending Dark Lord and his wife to speak about such private things in front of…"

He trailed off then, staring at the piano as his face went very hot. He realised at once what he'd done. He'd called her his _wife._ He shut his eyes and whispered,

"It was a slip of the tongue."

"My mother used to call those _Freudian slips,_" Hermione said with a nervous laugh. She shifted where she stood, and out of his peripheral vision, Voldemort watched her move to stand in front of the fireplace and stare into the flames. He watched her knit her hands in front of her body as she murmured,

"Do you know, I actually got a compliment on my ruby ring the other day? I was in Madam Primpernelle's, in Diagon Alley, getting some Sleekeazy's. You know I go through that stuff like water. Anyway. I was paying and the girl at the till grabbed my hand and exclaimed that it was just the prettiest ring she'd ever seen. So."

"Mmm-hmm." Voldemort stared at the piano keys and arranged his fingers on them. He played a low chord and then tinkled his fingers around the high notes a little, drawling out a delicate sonata. As he played, his heart raced. There was a disconnect between the thrumming of his heart, the acceleration of his breath, and the calm, rocking sort of music he was putting forth.

He tried to think about just what the ring on her finger meant. He'd given it to her to claim her. He'd bought it for her because he'd been falling in love with her and he'd wanted something to mark her as his witch, as the one who made him happy. Then he'd asked her to wear it on her left hand, on the finger where she'd once had wedding rings from Ronald Weasley. For years, she'd worn Ron's rings, but now she'd spent almost a year wearing a ruby ring from Lord Voldemort there. And their mutual love had turned him from a warped, damaged tramp into a handsome, healthy Dark Lord. She was _everything_, wasn't she? And he'd given her that ring because he had been in love with her. When he'd given it to her, he'd thought he'd known what it had meant. But things felt different now.

As he played through the opulent sonata, Voldemort contemplated just what Hermione had become over the last months. She had sat in on meetings and had helped push Voldemort's agenda for the wizarding world. She had charmed Pureblood donors into giving money to a climbing Half-Blood and his Muggle-born partner. She had privately provided him with reassurance and pleasure and satisfaction, attending Quidditch matches with him, shopping with him, listening to his piano playing, and making love. They'd discussed book after book together. They'd spent late nights staring at the ceiling, murmuring in the darkness, tangled up naked. They'd showered together and whispered against one another's lips as warm water washed over them. They'd laughed at the other's jokes over dinners and had talked policy in his office over rosemary scones.

Voldemort thudded his fingers on the piano keys through the middle, marching section of the piece, and he flicked his eyes to where Hermione stood staring into the fire. She was so beautiful, he thought. She was absolutely perfect. And, whilst it was true that she had once loathed him, she didn't hate him anymore. She loved him now. She was his, and he was hers. She was desirous of him, and selfish of him. And he was protective of her, and possessive of her. They were in love. So what did that ruby ring mean these days?

He finished off the sonata with a flourish of high notes and a few low, quiet chords, and then he let his fingers rest on the keys. He took a few trembling breaths, his heart still thundering inside his chest. He licked his dry lips and shut his eyes.

"It was a slip of the tongue."

Calling her his wife, he meant. Hermione said nothing. Voldemort listened to the fire crackling. He opened his eyes and turned to look at her. She'd taken a few steps towards him, and she was nervously twining her hair around a finger. Suddenly Voldemort's lips had gone dry again. He tried to wet them, tried to swallow past the thick knot in his throat, and he finally whispered,

"Marry me, will you?"

Hermione just nodded. She reached back into her handbag and pulled out her Protean stone, the weapon she'd crafted for Voldemort as a gift. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his own, thumbing it and sinking his teeth into his lip.

_Yes, _she thought simply. Then, _I will marry you._ _I belong to the Dark Lord._

He flew to his feet and rushed to her, seizing her face in his hands. Her stone, her weapon, pressed against her cheek as he crushed her mouth with his and kissed her deeply, realising just what this house meant, what the ring meant… what she was going to mean.

**Author's Note: Hello and welcome! To those joining me from **_**Dominus, Particeps, **_**I hope you enjoyed that duet of stories and that you'll enjoy this sequel to **_**Revision and Rescript. **_**I do so enjoy writing Tomione/Volmione and have so much in store for these two in this tale. We'll see Hermione making more weapons, helping Voldemort keep ascending to power, and, obviously, marrying the Dark Lord. But it won't all be smooth sailing! Odysseus Siegel will definitely be making an appearance soon, and not everyone is excited about Lord Voldemort's plans for the wizarding world.**

**As always, I treasure your feedback like gold, especially on a sequel that has lower readership than the original story. Thank you so very much for reading and reviewing.**


	2. Anything Can Be Powerful

"_Transitum Forza._" Hermione placed her hands upon the brass globe before her and shut her eyes, breathing deeply. She imagined willing some of the facts and information she'd learnt over the years into the brass orb. She thought specifically of Unicorns, of the vast working knowledge she had of Unicorns. She could feel the buzz of magic beneath her hands, could feel the power of the ball absorbing what she was transmitting.

She opened her eyes and stared at the long, connecting brass tube that led from one brass globe to another, matching one. That one now glowed with a supernatural golden light, waiting for someone to come and intake the transmitted power. Hermione smirked to herself and removed her hands from the brass ball. She took a step back and cleared her throat.

Her new weapon was ready to be tested.

She stalked out of the library and wound her way through the first floor of Foss House, until she reached the heavy black and gold office where Lord Voldemort worked on days when he didn't have meetings at Malfoy Manor. She knocked on his door, for he liked to have his privacy, and she waited. A moment later, his door opened and he stood before her, achingly handsome. He smiled a little at her and said,

"My. What a good thing it is to see you just now. I've been slaving over letters begging for more money. Not that the movement is poor. It's just that I want the movement to be very rich, you see, and I -"

"Tom, I've got something to show you," Hermione interrupted him. Voldemort cocked up a brow and looked intrigued. He stepped out into the corridor as Hermione knit her hands before her and said, "In the library. I've been working on them for a few days. I call them Transmission Orbs. They're still a prototype; I haven't even had a chance to test them with two people, but I... well, you'll see."

He walked with her to the library, and when they went inside, he seemed awestruck by the sight of the brass globes she'd Conjured, along with the long, elegant, twisted brass tube separating them. It looked like some sort of Victorian machine, Hermione knew. She'd created a strange device, and now was the time to find out whether it could do what she'd made it for.

"Right, so. Go stand near that one there." Hermione gestured to the far brass orb. Voldemort looked very interested indeed, and as he stood near the ball, he hesitated with his palms over the metal and asked,

"Is this going to shock me or something?"

"Let's hope not," Hermione said with a nervous laugh. She stood near the other brass globe and confidently put her hands upon it. She gulped and instructed Voldemort,

"I'd like for you to try first. The incantation is _Transitum Forza_, and as soon as you say the spell, you concentrate hard on a power or skill set or bank of knowledge you'd like to transmit to me."

Voldemort's mouth fell open, and he just stared at Hermione for a long moment. He blinked. "Transmission Orbs."

"Yes," Hermione nodded. "The idea is to magically impart one person's strength onto another, without losing that strength for oneself. It's like sharing, without losing what you've got. The power is augmented through transmission, not divided. I hope that makes sense. That's the plan, anyway."

Voldemort raised his eyebrows and smirked. "So, if I wanted to make you a Legilimens…"

"Then I'd see all of your thoughts," Hermione teased, but he shot back,

"You wouldn't. I'm an Occlumens. But you'd be able to see everyone else's, just like I do. So you think I could conduct the power of Legilimency through these Transmission Orbs using the spell you've invented?"

He narrowed his eyes and let his hands hover just over the metal. He shook his head and whispered,

"Damned beautiful, brilliant witch."

"Why don't we try?" Hermione suggested. Voldemort pursed his lips and placed his hands quite firmly onto the brass ball before him. Hermione touched at her orb and shut her eyes, listening as Voldemort incanted,

"_Transitum Forza._"

There was a moment of deep, abiding nothingness, and then there was a low buzz into Hermione's fingers and palms. It felt almost electric, almost like static. She tried not to jolt, not to startle. She held her hands firm and chomped her lip. Suddenly her mind was flooded with the idea of searching people's minds, with the idea of sorting through memories and flicking through images. She knew, somehow, what it meant to pull forth the verbiage floating around in people's skulls. She gasped and opened her eyes, and Voldemort was staring intensely at her. He pulled his hands slowly from the orb and whispered,

"Try it on me. I'll let down my shields."

Hermione gulped, taking a step back from the Transmission Orbs. She licked her lips and pulled out her wand, aiming it at Lord Voldemort. "_Legilimens._"

She felt herself crash into his mind, felt herself careening into his thoughts like a person falling through ice into a frozen pond. She tried to catch her breath as memories came cascading forward. He was playing piano at Wool's Orphanage. He was playing a scherzo whilst it poured outside the orphanage, and the other children were listening enviously to the way he played. Then, abruptly, the scene shifted, and Tom Riddle was casting a Killing Curse at his father. He was kissing a Slytherin girl in a deserted classroom after curfew. He was muttering in the darkness with Odysseus Siegel in Berlin about whether or not time travel could actually be wise. Hermione frowned, settling on that memory.

'_I can't see a circumstance in which trying to fix things decades back would -'_

'_Then plainly you don't understand the splintering,' Odysseus was saying furtively in the dimly-lit room. 'Plainly you do not understand how new, wondrous realities can be created by doing things the right way.'_

'_What about a paradox?' The burgeoning Lord Voldemort demanded. 'What about when a person goes back in time and then they're born, and -'_

'_People can be in more than one place at once,' Odysseus was saying, shaking his head. 'Paradoxes are not so problematic as you might think.'_

'_Who's H?' Voldemort was sipping deeply from his wine. 'You keep talking about H. That she's going to come to me. Am I supposed to keep waiting for someone with an H? Hecta? Hestia? Harriet? I can't think of many H names.'_

'_You'll know her when she comes.' Odysseus was blinking. 'I have to go.'_

'_You always have to go when we get drunk,' Voldemort complained. 'Why do you always get me drunk and then say you have to leave for weeks on end?'_

'_I have places to be,' Odysseus said firmly. Voldemort tipped his head back, dizzy with drink, and when he opened his eyes again, Odysseus was gone._

Hermione felt herself pull out of Voldemort's mind with a mighty whoosh. She felt a bit nauseated, and she stumbled a little where she stood. She leaned heavily on the nearby chair and stared at Voldemort.

"I… you…"

"You've invented a weapon that allows the transmission of even the most complex magical powers." Voldemort stalked towards her. He seized her face in his hands at once and bent down, touching his forehead to hers. "You are the most singularly powerful… Hermione. Odysseus was right. I have needed you for a very long time. What you've created here is invaluable. You and I can share so very much with one another. I can make my Death Eaters as powerful as I wish for them to be. You have created a dynamic, impressive, mighty weapon, and I am so incredibly proud of you."

"You are?" Hermione raised her gaze to him, feeling her eyes well heavily. What would Ron Weasley and Harry Potter think of her these days, she wondered absently? She was going to marry Lord Voldemort. She had crafted weapons for him. He had implanted the ability of Legilimency into her mind. She had been foretold to him by a mysterious ancient wizard. Was she Dark now? She was, wasn't she? She was the Dark Lady. What would Harry and Ron and Ginny and Neville and Luna and all the others think of her now?

Did she care, really? Could she care anymore, when she had Tom holding her face and brushing his lips against hers as he whispered,

"You know I love you."

* * *

"So you're the House-Elf the Placement Agency has sent?" Voldemort sniffed at the Elf standing on the front steps of Foss House. The young female Elf stared up at him with wide, glassy sky blue eyes and smiled broadly.

"I is Tancy, My Lord. I has been sent to work for Lord V-V-V… Tancy dares not speak it. Tancy has been sent to work for you and for the Dark Lady, sir."

"Tancy. Well. Do come in, and let's have a talk." Voldemort sighed and pulled open the door. He licked his bottom lip and shut the door as Tancy skittered inside. Tancy looked around the gothic foyer admiringly and gushed,

"I is liking this house very much, sir. It is a beautiful house, My Lord."

"Thank you." Voldemort cleared his throat. He decided to cut straight to the meat of the matter. "Tancy, the only condition under which you will be permitted to work for this family is if you are given an article of clothing and freed. Working for us as a Free Elf, you will be granted financial compensation at a reasonable rate, a small amount of leisure time, and comfortable living quarters. If you won't accept these conditions, I'm afraid we'll have to send you back to the Placement Agency at once."

Tancy's sky blue eyes went very, very wide. She blinked, her long lashes fluttering. She touched the pads of her fingers to her cheekbones and whispered,

"Tancy is to be… to be freed, sir?"

"My… fiancée… the Dark Lady. She won't accept the servitude of an enslaved House-Elf. She insists upon employing a Free Elf. These are our conditions. Do you accept, or shall I send you back?"

"Tancy is to be freed?" Tancy whispered again. Her blue eyes welled thickly, dribbling over with tears, and suddenly Voldemort realised that the Placement Agency had done a good job of finding him a House-Elf who would be amenable to the idea of working under Hermione's strict conditions. He coughed into his fist and demanded again,

"Do you agree, or not?"

"Y-Yes. I is agreeing! Tancy is agreeing! Tancy will be free! Tancy will work most ardently for the Dark Lord and Dark Lady! Tancy will clean and cook and will be a very good Elf for the benev… benevo…"

"Benevolent," Voldemort murmured, and Tancy nodded vigorously.

"The good Dark Lord and Lady," she cried. "Tancy will -"

"What's this?"

Voldemort looked up to see Hermione descending the stairs. She had an angry look upon her face, and she snarled rather viciously,

"Tom, I told you that I refused to accept the subjugation of a House-Elf, and that I -"

"Hermione, meet Tancy," Voldemort said calmly. "Tancy, this is the Dark Lady Hermione, who will be marrying me soon enough. For that I am a very lucky wizard. Hermione, Tancy is very much looking forward to receiving an article of clothing from you."

Hermione froze on the third step from the bottom. Her mouth fell open, and she gazed at the wide-eyed Elf. She blinked and said warmly,

"Welcome to our home, Tancy. I trust it wouldn't be too much for you to handle."

"Tancy would most happily take care of Foss House, Madam!" exclaimed Tancy, curtsying in her rather nasty dishrag that had been fashioned into something of a dress. She scurried towards Hermione and exclaimed, "The benev-melent Dark Lord has promised Tancy that I is going to be freed! And that Tancy will work with good conditions! And that Tancy will be a Free Elf taking good care of Foss House for the good Dark Lord and good Dark Lady! Is it true, Madam? Tell Tancy, is it true?"

Hermione's face broke into a very broad grin. She nodded vigorously and said firmly, "It is true. Indeed, it is true. Tom, have you already signed papers with the Placement Agency?"

"She's here on a provisional basis. You can free her at any time," Tom said. Hermione smiled. She pulled out her wand and aimed it up towards the bedrooms of the house.

"_Accio _sock."

A plain white sock came soaring through the air, and Hermione caught it with one hand. She held it and stared at it for a long moment, and then she said softly,

"A long time ago, in a place that doesn't really exist to me anymore, someone who will never even be born now did something very powerful with a sock. It's a long story, Tancy. Anyway. The point is that socks can be very powerful things. Anything can be powerful, with the right intention behind it."

She raised her eyes to Voldemort, and he nodded. He thought of the Protean stones she'd crafted, of the Transmission Orbs she'd invented. He thought of the way they could communicate their thoughts directly when they wanted to, of the way she possessed Legilimency now, of the way she'd given him some of her Gryffindor bravado and her endless knowledge on wizarding history. He thought of how powerful their love was, the way it had healed him and made him handsome again. Their love was so powerful it had cleared away his scars and the rips in his soul.

Anything could be powerful, with the right intention behind it. Even a sock.

He watched as Hermione descended the last three stairs and neared Tancy. She held out the sock, and Tancy's long fingers shook as the little Elf reached for the sock. She clutched at it and gripped it tightly, holding it to her chest and bowing her head.

"Tancy is free," the House-Elf sobbed softly. "Tancy is a Free Elf."

"Will you grant us the pleasure of working for us here in our household, Tancy?" Hermione asked kindly, and Tancy raised her face and said sincerely,

"Tancy can think of no higher honour, My Lady."

**Author's Note: So Hermione is definitely on the Dark Side, and she's creating new things for Voldemort, and gaining new powers. She's also learning more about Odysseus. Hint - we'll continue learning more about him, too. So, when will they make a big engagement announcement? What kind of wedding will they have? More to come!**

**I am in Disney World (woot) but I do have my computer. I'll be updating as often as I can, but I do appreciate your patience for the next week or so.**

**As always, thank you so very much for reading and reviewing.**


	3. A Dark Witch

"If you finish, I'll slap your face."

"Mmph!" Hermione struggled against the thin ropes binding her wrists behind her back and the scarf forcing her lips apart and silencing her. She gagged a little and wriggled, knowing she was going to come and knowing there was nothing she could do about it.

In the last months, her sexual encounters with Lord Voldemort had become more and more intense. They still made love slowly, kissing, whilst it rained outside and the bed creaked gently beneath them. They still touched one another's slick bodies in the shower. But, increasingly, they did things like _this_ \- things where Hermione was tied up and Voldemort had a _Vibratio_ spell trained squarely upon her clit with the tip of his wand. He was threatening her, and there were few things she enjoyed more than being threatened by him. She couldn't help it, just like she couldn't help it that she was about to come.

"_Vibratio Maxima,_" Voldemort incanted, touching the tip of his wand more firmly to Hermione's clit. A wicked glint crossed his dark eyes, and he shook his head. "Don't you dare finish."

"Mmph!" Hermione let out a muffled cry of anguish. She wrestled with the ties at her back and arched her back up. This felt good. This felt so damned good. It was a constant stream of satisfying stimulation on her entrance, making her drenched and swollen. She was leaking fluids all over his wand, she knew. She couldn't care. She knew he didn't care. She moaned against the scarf and yanked at the cords tying up her hands. She let her head fall forward and shook it wildly. She was going to come. Everything was coiling up in her belly. It felt too good. It felt too damned good, the buzzing tightening up between her legs, winding her up like a spring.

"Don't," Voldemort warned, but Hermione raised her eyes to him and shot him a pleading look. He cocked a brow at her and hissed, "I'll slap you until your cheek is on fire."

That did her in. She wrenched her eyes shut and came hard, choking out a sound of desperation against the cloth on her mouth as she clenched and clamped near Voldemort's wand. She flushed hot and saw spots behind her eyelids. Everything rang blinding white for a moment, then faded to scarlet pleasure, then suddenly there was a mighty _crack_ on Hermione's left cheek.

She gasped, her face flying to the side as Voldemort's slap ricocheted in the air. She stared at him, meeting his eyes, and he said in a shaking voice,

"I warned you, Hermione."

She trembled as she came down from her high, and then he was Vanishing the ropes off of her and untying the scarf from her mouth and shoving her back onto the bed. She landed on with an _oof_ on the pillows as he roughly wrenched her wrists above her head and pinned them there with one of his own hands. He held fast and shoved her knees apart, and he smashed his mouth down onto Hermione's. She moaned wantonly into the kiss, and when he broke away, she whispered frantically,

"Tom. Tom, be inside me now. Please be inside me now."

"You know I love you," he purred, and then he pushed into her. He rocked his hips, smooth and steady, moving with the urgency of a man who needed satisfaction. He held onto Hermione's hip with one hand, gliding it up her ribcage and back down again as his other hand squeezed her wrists. He kissed her again, harder this time, and then murmured onto her mouth,

"I love you."

"More than anything. More than _anything_, I love you," she sobbed back, and she felt his breath quake and crackle then as he came, as he spilled himself into her and touched his forehead to hers. He brushed his lips against hers and mumbled,

"There is nothing more satiating, more gratifying, in all the world, than your body. When I touch you, I am a glutton. And I am not sorry for my sin."

Hermione urged him to release her hands, which he did. She held his face and brought him in for another kiss, wrapping her legs more tightly around him. Then she whispered,

"I never, ever thought I would find pleasure like this with Lord Voldemort. But here I am, and here you are, and I feel very good indeed right now, Tom."

"Mmm. I need to talk to you." He rolled off of her, and she felt his seed leak out between her legs. She frowned, turning her head to him and wondering why on Earth he would crash through the mood like this, right now. She stared at him and wished she had her wand. She wasn't as good at wandless Legilimency yet as he was. Even if she had been, he was a brilliant Occlumens.

"What I need to talk to you about," he said, dragging his fingers through his thick waves and staring at the ceiling, "is something I'd like to impart to you through your Transmission Orbs."

"Oh." Hermione pushed herself up onto an elbow. "What do you want to transfer to me, Tom?"

He shut his eyes. "The willingness to cast Unforgivables without hesitation."

Hermione's mouth fell open. She stared at him for a long moment. Her mind went fuzzy. She was so flooded with thoughts that she couldn't pick through them all. She finally settled on blind, furious indignation, and she exclaimed,

"I am not a murderer!"

"As I grow more powerful," Tom said patiently, flicking his eyes to her, "someone might come for you. I need you to be able to cast something more than a Stunning Spell or a Confundus Charm in a pinch. I need you to Imperius people who are in our way without your scruples insisting that everyone has a right to free will. I need you to cast a Cruciatus if someone is presenting you with a situation where that… well, where that's the appropriate response."

"Tom, torture is _never_ the appropriate respone!" Hermione scoffed, but Voldemort sighed and insisted,

"You just don't know what's going to happen. I'm not prescribing that you use these spells. I'm not asking you to use them. I am asking you to be _willing_ and _able_ to use them, if a situation arose where they were truly the best choice."

Hermione hesitated. "And the Killing Curse? You'd make a murderer of me?"

"Not if I could help it. I'd have you protect yourself at any and all cost," Voldemort said, pinching his lips. He stroked at Hermione's arm and said, "You're going to be my wife, and I am going to have enemies. They will come for you, too. All I ask is that you be ready to fight back against whatever they throw at you. If I lose you because you were too damned _good_, Hermione Granger, I will never forgive myself."

Hermione was silent for a very long while. Finally Voldemort said to her,

"Your Occlumency shields are strong, but I can perceive that you are wondering whether this means that you are a Dark witch now. Perhaps it would mean that, Hermione. Perhaps having the Dark Lord transmit the willingness to cast Unforgivables into you - using a device you'd invented - makes you a Dark witch. Perhaps it does. But the world you left behind is gone now, and you are marrying Lord Voldemort, and I am going to do things properly. You've said it yourself. I will win this time, and I will do it correctly. And you'll be with me, arm in arm. Won't you?"

Hermione's eyes watered as she realised just how far she'd fallen, and how little she was able to will herself to remedy that situation. She nodded at Voldemort and whispered softly,

"Arm in arm."

"So will you let me use the Transmission Orbs to impart a readiness to cast Unforgivables?" Voldemort asked, and Hermione nodded slowly. Her inventions were wicked, she thought, and she was wicked, too.

And she found that she could no longer much mind.

* * *

"Thank you all for coming tonight," said Raddox Lestrange, standing at the head of his dining table. He stared at those assembled, including Mulciber, Nott, Avery, Rookwood, Dolohov, Cygnus Black III, Yaxley, Abraxas Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and, of course, Voldemort and Hermione. A few of the wizards had wives or girlfriends with them; Sylvie Malfoy and Druella Black had come, and the pudgy woman Crabbe had married. Lestrange raised his wine glass and said thoughtfully,

"I think it most appropriate that I keep my greetings brief and defer to Lord Voldemort, who brings us all together. My Lord. Would you give us a toast to start dinner?"

"Certainly." Voldemort stood with his wine glass, and Lestrange sat back down. Voldemort held up his wine glass and smirked a little. He'd gained confidence; Hermione had transmitted him some of her Gryffindor courage. He'd felt it, too, at these last few social gatherings. His old social anxiety had nearly evaporated, or what was left of it, at least. He cleared his throat and said,

"My friends. How good it is to see all of you together here tonight. It is good to see you together because we, all of us, shall be something of an organisation moving forward."

There was a slight rustling in the seats at the dining table as people processed that. Voldemort waited and then said,

"You see, my friends, I have spies in the Ministry of Magic these days. I even have a friend working at the _Daily Prophet _who is sympathetic to my vision for the future of wizarding Britain. I have shopkeeper friends in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade who agree with my views. But it is you, the Purebloods, the Sacred Twenty-Eight, whose place in our new world will be most solemn and hallowed. Your duties as the paragons of wizarding virtue will be enormous, and I place my faith in all of you as my dearest friends to continue spreading the message of the vision we hold for the Magical world. Can I count on each and every one of you to continue to share our cause?"

People rapped on the table and verbally assented with hoots and grunts and little cheers. They nodded, and Nott clapped happily. Voldemort smirked more broadly.

"My friends, I have other news to share with you tonight."

He stared down at Hermione, who smiled up at him. She looked so beautiful tonight, he thought. She'd worn a cobalt blue gown with her hair in milkmaid braids, and her lips were painted crimson. She was simpler in appearance than some of the other witches, but so much more serenely gorgeous, Voldemort thought. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to be in the midnight blue parlour at Foss House, playing piano whilst she stood nearby and just smiled at him. He liked when she did that, when she smiled as he played. She smiled now, and he took a moment to catch his breath. He swallowed past the knot in his throat, gathering up the courage Hermione had sent flowing through his veins, and he stared out among the gathered at the table.

"Hermione Granger and I are to be married," he said, "I've asked her, and she has made me the luckiest wizard alive by accepting. We hope you'll all join us in celebrating."

There were gasps, and then a raucous round of applause broke out. Hermione grinned broadly as Sylvie Malfoy shrieked with glee. Abraxas Malfoy's voice cut through the happy cheering then as he stood a little and called out,

"My Lord, I wonder if you and the Dark Lady would be so good as to accept the hospitality of Malfoy Manor for your wedding? I think it should be a properly grand affair, and we've the room to host an event with dinner and dancing."

"Hermione?" Voldemort flicked up his eyebrows and glanced down at Hermione. Her face went serious for a moment, and he knew exactly what she was thinking. In her past life, she'd been tortured at Malfoy Manor. Her friend had been imprisoned there. Dobby had had a dagger thrown into him at Malfoy Manor. Lord Voldemort had held Death Eater meetings where people had been murdered at Malfoy Manor. And now she was going to marry Lord Voldemort himself at that very house. Was that what she was going to do? Was that who Hermione Granger had become?

What would Ronald Weasley think?

"We would be so very grateful, and I think a Christmastime wedding would be perfect," Hermione gushed, and Sylvie clapped and squealed.

"Christmas! Yes! Perfect! Instead of the Christmas party this year, we'll host the wedding! Ooh! It will be perfect, Abraxas!"

"Well, that's settled. Thank you." Voldemort bowed his head. He raised his glass then toward Lestrange and said, "To Raddox Lestrange, for hosting the dinner party. And to all of us, that we may work together to promote wizarding Britain's better future."

"And to the Dark Lord and the Dark Lady!" cried skinny Avery, flying to his feet and almost spilling his wine. "Congratulations on your engagement."

"Congratulations!" cried out the others, and they all drank. The food appeared then, and Voldemort turned his eyes to Hermione. He tried to read her face for doubt, for some sign that she was troubled by what she'd lived at Malfoy Manor and what would now come to pass there. But she smiled a little at him, her eyes glittering beautifully, and she whispered,

"Christmastime. So soon. I'll have to hurry to plan. But I don't mind. It'll be perfect."

"Perfect," Voldemort nodded, and he turned to his quail.

**Author's Note: Okay, so Hermione's **_**really**_ **gone Dark. Sounds like their wedding will be nice, though. Who's looking forward to details of that? And sounds like maybe Sylvie and Hermione will actually buddy up on this one a little bit?**

**As always, thank you so much for reading and a thousand thank-yous for reviewing. I appreciate your patience as I am on vacation.**


	4. The Only Way

"_Transitum Forza._"

Hermione trembled a little as she pressed her hands to the brass orb before her. She felt a surge of magic eke into the metal device, and then it jolted and buzzed as it leaked into her hands. She gasped at the powerful wave of magic coming from Voldemort into her, and she raised her eyes to his and whispered,

"Don't do this to me."

"You know this must be done," he snarled back, and Hermione shut her eyes. She nodded. They'd discussed this matter three times since he'd first brought it up to her after sex. She'd finally agreed that, if she was not going to make a Horcrux and split her soul, then she needed some other way of guaranteeing she could protect herself properly. A willingness and ability to quickly and unapologetically cast Unforgivables would help her in situations where any potential enemies came lashing out.

Hermione suddenly felt a thought go through her mind. If she wanted to Imperius someone right now, she could do it. She'd cast the spell and green smoke would envelop them. She'd will them into doing whatever she wanted, and they would have no choice but to obey. She would torture someone who had wronged Lord Voldemort. She would cast the Cruciatus Curse on someone who had hurt her Tom. She would wrap them up in a web of scarlet light and _hurt_ them, really _hurt_ them, if they wounded her Tom.

And then it hit her - like a bolt of lightning crashing out of the sky and electrifying her. A sudden knowledge, strong and sure, socked into her chest and felt heavy in her stomach. She would, unequivocally, kill anybody who was in the way. If someone posed an immediate threat to herself or to the Dark Lord, in terms of bodily safety or in terms of threatening his power, she would kill them. That thought threaded into her veins and wound up like knots in her brain and heart. She shut her eyes and breathed in the idea of it, of killing.

Suddenly it didn't feel so nasty anymore. It didn't feel so forbidden. It didn't feel taboo or wicked or even really wrong. It felt like… it felt like an option. It felt like one more weapon to keep in her arsenal, like a blade to be pulled from a sheath in a time of great need. She wouldn't run about murdering swaths of people. She wasn't evil. But if she needed to kill, she would do it.

And now, suddenly, she knew that she would do it, and she wasn't afraid of that thought. She wasn't frightened of the idea of killing, of torture, of control. She wasn't afraid of Azkaban. Right and wrong were meaningless with these spells.

"Open your mind," Voldemort purred, pulling his hands from the Transmission Orb. Hermione snaked her arms off her own globe and crossed them over her chest. She stared at him and let down her Occlumency shields. She felt the dull thud of his Legilimency and then let him paw through her thoughts as he seemed to register just what a change had come over her. He smirked and nodded.

"Good," he whispered. "Perfect. My beautiful Dark Lady."

* * *

"Tancy," Hermione said, sitting across the dining room table from the House-Elf, "I wish to discuss the terms of your employment with us."

"Terms of employment, Madam?" Tancy sounded almost afraid. "Has Tancy done something to offend the good Dark Lord and good Dark Lady?"

"No, of course not." Hermione sipped at her warm apple cider and cleared her throat. "The Dark Lord and I would like to offer you fifty Galleons per month for your work."

Tancy's bright blue eyes went round as saucers, her long lashes fluttering as she grasped at the little dress Hermione had made for her in a blue wool that matched Tancy's eyes. Tancy sputtered and gasped.

"Fifty. _Fifty _Galleons? Madam! This is madness! Tancy could never! Tancy could _never!_"

"Well," Hermione pinched her lips, remembering the way Dobby had refused Dumbledore's offer of ten Galleons a week and only accepted one. She sipped her apple cider again and asked, "What is a fair salary, in your view?"

"Tancy can't… I is not…" Tancy's brown little face went quite pale then, and she shook her head as her eyes watered. "Oh, no, no. I is not taking so much money, My Lady. Oh, no. Tancy could not possibly take more than _ten_ Galleons in a month, Madam!"

Hermione smiled a little. Those maths at least worked out to better than what Dobby had accepted from Dumbledore. Hermione pursed her lips and shrugged.

"We'll begin with ten Galleons per month," she said, "but you're to have raises commensurate with the quality of your work. If you do well, you'll get a raise of one Galleon per month. Fair?"

"Oh, so very much more than fair, Madam, my good Dark Lady!" Tancy grabbed her cheeks and rocked back and forth in her chair. She shook her head and murmured, "Tancy has never been a good Elf to earn such treatment as this. What has Tancy done?"

"Tancy, you're a very good House-Elf, and like all other House-Elves, you're deserving of fair and proper treatment," Hermione said patiently. "In this household, you'll be a paid employee with good benefits. That's the end of it. If you won't work with those conditions, we shall try to find you a different -"

"No! _No!_ Tancy wants to stay here forever!" Tancy insisted, slapping her spindly fingers on the table. "Tancy is a very happy House-Elf here! Tancy will work very hard to keep Foss House clean and keep her family fed and happy!"

"But you are a Free Elf," Hermione reminded Tancy, "and you are free to leave at any time. You must remember that. If at any time you wish to go somewhere else, or you're displeased with your working conditions, you must speak up. You are a Free Elf, Tancy."

"Y-Yes, My Lady." Tancy's eyes glazed with tears. She reached for Hermione's hand, and Hermione looked down to see Tancy's fingers covering hers. Hermione felt her own eyes prickle with tears as she thought of Dobby, as she thought of S.P.E.W., as she thought of all the mental energy she'd devoted in her past life to House-Elves with nobody caring about it. She raised her gaze to Tancy and mumbled,

"You're a Free Elf."

"You is a very good Dark Lady," Tancy said firmly. "You is a good witch, Madam Hermione Granger. And you is a good Dark Lady."

Hermione's eye boiled over with a tear, and she nodded as she whispered helplessly, "Thank you."

* * *

Lord Voldemort stared out the window of the buttercream parlour at Foss House and let his fingers drift around the keys of the piano. He sighed as he played Bach's _Prelude in C Major_. Hermione was in Diagon Alley getting a wedding dress fitted to her body today. That thought made his chest tight. He played the flowing piano piece and stared out at the frosty grass, imagining Hermione with witches taking measurements and showing her different fabric samples and putting veils on her hair for her to try.

"It is a lovely thought, isn't it? Her as your bride."

Voldemort ripped his hands from the piano and slid the bench back, his eyes going wide as his attention turned to the figure who had materialised in the room with him.

"Odysseus."

He frowned a little. Odysseus looked drawn and weary, like he was sick or wounded. He moved slowly toward one of the chairs and made a move to sit, then seemed to think the better of it and stood up straighter. He seemed suddenly stronger, like he'd breathed life into himself with a lungful of air. He stared at Voldemort and stroked at his silvery beard as he said quietly,

"I told you she would do well for you. Now look at her. Creating weapons for you. Helping you raise money. Aiding you in making friends. The love of your life; she's going to marry you. She's the Dark Lady. And you almost killed her the night she came back."

"How was I meant to know?" Voldemort narrowed his eyes but stayed sitting on the piano bench. "_H_, you said. Couldn't you have been more specific?"

"No." Odysseus shook his head. He appeared to sigh and then took a step toward Voldemort. He seemed ethereal, like he wasn't fully formed but wasn't a ghost, either. He said, "If I'd told you that a witch called Hermione was coming back in time to change your life for the better, you'd have obsessed over that specific information. Instead I gave you just enough - _just enough_ \- that when she told you _O.S. and friends_ had sent her back, you'd realise just who she was."

"_And friends._" Voldemort dragged his teeth over his bottom lip. "Who are the friends?"

Odysseus narrowed his eyes. "We have homes, each of us. Some of us begin in one home and travel to another home; the new home becomes permanent. Such is the case for Hermione. Some of us are wanderers. Nomads. People who begin in one place and never, ever stop moving about. Time and space are fluid factors that drain us, age us, pull us apart and make us weary, and still we are never at rest. I am a wanderer. So are my friends."

"And you and your friends thought it best that Hermione Granger leave behind a marriage with Ronald Weasley to come back and ensure the success of Lord Voldemort?" He scoffed at the idea, at how ludicrous this all was, but Odysseus was serious as he said,

"Nothing is linear for me. Nothing is solid. Nothing is constant. Nothing is sure. Except for one thing - there is one path that makes all the rest of the pieces fall into place, without paradox or catastrophe. One path, and one path alone. All the other paths had unintended consequences or horrific suffering, fractures and breaks and all manner of errors. But this one path - this _one way_ \- leads everything else to be right and good."

Voldemort slowly rose from the piano bench and walked away from the instrument, approaching Odysseus. He towered over the other wizard, who was ancient - or at least appeared ancient. Voldemort didn't really know anymore. He huffed a breath and said,

"So Hermione making Harry Potter Unborn, and Hermione becoming the Dark Lady, and me crafting a world in which Magical Beasts and Beings exist in harmony separately from Muggles… you're saying that's the right way?"

"I am saying that that is the _only_ way," Odysseus said calmly. "If Hermione had rejected the One-Way Time-Turner I'd sent her, her world would have continued on, splintering other timelines and causing a manic burst of pain and suffering. By moving her here, and by shifting your path… by putting you two together on a road to victorious Darkness… all will be well in the great, vast Universe. This my friends and I have confirmed through much travel. We have experienced a great deal of space and time to reach the conclusion that Hermione needed to go into that bathroom and turn that Time-Turner. I am very glad she did."

Voldemort gulped and shut his eyes. He shook his head and whispered, "She's got a wedding dress fitting today. I am marrying her. I am making her _mine_, Odysseus."

"She has surrendered her scruples to you using a terrible invention she created specifically to aid in your Darkness," Odysseus noted. "Think of what her intentions were when she first arrived here. Now look at her. Do you not think she is already yours? Marry her just the same. I do love a good wedding. Be careful with her skirts; the cut of her dress lends itself to you treading upon them when you dance."

His pale eyes sparkled then, and Voldemort realised Odysseus had already seen his wedding with Hermione, on some other visit. He licked his lips and whispered,

"Children, you saw."

"Two," Odysseus confirmed. "Later. Much later. Give that a good deal of time."

"And will we be happy?" Voldemort asked, his throat going dry. "Hermione and I? Will we be happy?"

Odysseus folded his hands in front of him and sighed. "You will make one another happy even in the bleakest of times. On that note, I come with a warning. Wands always at the ready. You already have enemies. Some of them you suspect. Some of them will surprise you. Be prepared for combat when you least expect it. Do me a favour, will you? When you walk in public these days, do so with your wand out. Wands always ready."

Voldemort scowled and snapped, "Tell me what will happen."

Odysseus shook his head. "You mustn't change the timeline. But you must be ready. Keep your wand out. Hermione, too. It is a good thing, I think… what you transferred to her. The Unforgivables. She'll need them."

Voldemort's mouth fell open, and he lurched forward to grab at Odysseus' robes. But before he could, Odysseus began to dissolve into thin air, without even bidding Voldemort a farewell. Voldemort frantically pawed at the air and clutched at the place where Odysseus had been. He cried out in a low growl, trying to ask just what Odysseus meant about Hermione needing Unforgivables, but Odysseus was gone.

Voldemort was left alone in the buttercream parlour, standing and panting and wondering when Hermione would be home from the seamstress. He finally shoved himself back onto the piano bench and began thundering out a scherzo, angry chords ricocheting around the room.

**Author's Note: Thank you again so much for your patience as I'm on vacation. This story's getting a ton of readership but not a lot of feedback, so if you get a quick moment to review I would definitely be very grateful. Thank you so much for reading and for reviewing.**


	5. Because They're Unforgivable

"So very much Christmas shopping to do this year," Hermione practically whimpered as she and Voldemort walked down Diagon Alley. She clutched three shopping bags in her left hand. One had lilac perfume for Sylvie Malfoy, and the others had leather folios for Yaxley, Mulciber, Nott, Avery, Crabbe, Goyle, Rookwood, and Dolohov. Hermione was heavily weighed down by the bags, and she started to shift them to her right hand. But Voldemort snatched at the heavy bags of folios and grumbled,

"I'll take them. You need to keep your wand out."

"Nothing is going to happen," Hermione hissed. "Odysseus was just preparing us for a future in which you'd have enemies. He didn't literally mean _four days later_ that we'd… what are you…?"

She stopped then, because Voldemort had skittered to a halt and was staring at a little boy sitting outside Florean Fortescue's. He was sulking in a heavy black cloak, solemnly sipping on a soda. He was alone. Voldemort frowned and adjusted his grip on his wand.

"Severus Snape," he said gravely. Hermione sighed. She stared at the pale-faced boy and saw the features of the man who had taught her Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts, the professor who had bullied her and Harry and Ron, the reformed Death Eater who had killed Albus Dumbledore on orders from the old man. Now she saw a sad little boy sipping at a metal straw and drumming his fingers on the table.

"He'll be mine this time," Voldemort said firmly. "He and Lily Potter will be happy together and he'll be an ally of mine. I've decided it."

"Tom," Hermione said quietly, "Have you got some sort of… of feeling about him?"

"I feel that it is incredibly important that Severus Snape be a weapon of mine this time round," Voldemort snapped. "I feel it is very important that his allegiances lie in the right place from the first."

With that, he strode right up to the table where Severus Snape sat, and he cleared his throat. He moved his fingers on his pale yew wand and adapted his hold on the bags he was carrying.

"Severus Snape," he said quietly. "May I sit?"

"You're the one they call Lord Voldemort." The boy sat up straighter and looked from Hermione to Voldemort again. "They say you've got all sorts of plans."

"_Legilimens,_" Hermione whispered from where she sat. She crept into Snape's mind, and she pulled through his thoughts and memories until she settled on the idea of Eileen Prince telling Severus Snape to go get a soda whilst she did what little shopping she could afford. They needed Christmas gifts, Eileen told Severus, for a few family members, and Eileen would have to bargain. She'd have to get everything at a steep discount. In fact, Severus had bought the soda with a spare coin he'd saved from months earlier, from a chore he'd done for an elderly neighbour in Cokeworth. Hermione reached into the little drawstring bag at her hip and surreptitiously extracted five Galleons. She slipped out of Snape's head and followed Voldemort to the table. She sat with him and set the Galleons on the table.

"These are for you," she said softly. "An early Christmas gift, Severus, from the Dark Lord."

Snape's black eyes went very round and very wide. He pocketed the coins so quickly that his hand practically blurred through the air. He sniffed and sipped at his soda. He gulped and asked,

"Why are you giving me money?"

"We like to give gifts to our friends," Voldemort said smoothly, "and we'd like to consider you a friend of ours. The Dark Lady and I have been told that you've a brilliant mind."

"Oh? Who told you that?" Snape tipped his head. Voldemort quirked up his lips and said,

"Isn't it amazing, what even the trees and stones can hear and see sometimes? Anyway. You've a good friend. Lily Evans. You ought to buy her a Christmas gift."

Snape's face darkened. "She's a Muggle. She wouldn't like anything I could buy with wizarding -"

"Lily is a very special girl," Hermione argued, "and I think she'd love to learn how to write with a quill and ink. Don't you think so, My Lord? Don't you think dear Lily would love for Severus to teach her to write neatly on parchment? She'd be all ready for Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts," Snape repeated. He narrowed his eyes. "Lily won't go to Hogwarts, because Lily is a…"

He trailed off, realisation coming over his face. He was a bright young man. He could put the pieces together. Lily was a witch. Hermione smiled a little at Snape and whispered,

"Buy Lily a Christmas gift, Severus."

"Yes. All right. And in your plans… the plans people say you've got… would Lily be…?" Snape scowled. "Some of the Purebloods think less of me because I'm a Half-Blood. They'd think even less of people like Lily."

"Well, I'm Muggle-born," Hermione sniffed, tipping her chin up, "and I'm going to marry Lord Voldemort."

"You're Muggle-born?" Snape's eyes went very wide. Hermione tried not to laugh. All of a sudden, this felt very funny. This felt very odd. Severus Snape was a child, staring at her, enthralled by the fact that she, the Dark Lady, was Muggle-born. It was surreal. Hermione huffed a breath and licked her lips.

"A very happy Yule to you, Severus," Voldemort said quietly. "I do hope we can call you _friend_. We can. Can't we?"

"Oh, yes. Of course… My Lord." Snape's face broke into a wide grin, revealing uneven teeth, and Hermione rose from the table with Voldemort and walked away. They were ten strides removed from Florean Fortescue's when Hermione murmured to Voldemort,

"Feel better?"

"Much better," Voldemort said, smiling a little at Hermione. But then Voldemort froze again, and Hermione's boots scuffed to a stop on the cobblestones. Suddenly Voldemort had dropped his shopping bags and was aiming his wand straight ahead of him. Hermione did the same, instinctively lowering her shopping and putting herself into a combat stance, one foot ahead of the other and knees bent. She aimed her wand ahead and tried to see just what was happening.

Four wands were pointed at them.

"Tom Riddle!" called out a dark-skinned wizard whom Hermione instantaneously recognised as Kingsley Shacklebolt. He and the others - Alastor Moody and two redheads whom Hermione knew to be Arthur Weasley and Fabian Prewett - slowly strode forward. Kingsley stalked past a frightened mother who shepherded her two children into a nearby shop, and Arthur and Fabian eked their way past two wizards who Disapparated from the impending conflict. Kingsley yelled,

"We know you've been having meetings, Tom Riddle. Gathering up followers for a movement. We won't let you become the next Gellert Grindelwald."

"Don't be silly, Kingsley," Voldemort said slickly, his wand steady in his hand. He wasn't just speaking to Kingsley, Hermione knew. He was speaking to the crowd in Diagon Alley, to the people who were watching, the people who were observing the brewing fight. Hermione's wand trembled in her grasp as she aimed it at Alastor Moody and met his gaze. He wasn't mauled yet, she saw. He had both eyes; his legs were fine. He was untouched by war. Voldemort held his arms out to his sides, breaking the hold of his wand on the others and opening himself up entirely.

"I want only the very best for wizarding Britain," he called out, looking about and meeting the eyes of a few people. "I desire a world in which every witch and every wizard - whether Muggle-born, Half-Blood, or Pureblood - has a place, has a role to play. I want to see every Beast and Being given proper -"

"We see right through you, Riddle," growled Moody. "You want to segregate the wizarding world entirely from Muggles."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "I see no reason for our world to mingle with theirs. I can discern no benefit from our lives mixing with theirs. That much is true."

"You wish to forbid marriage between Muggles and Magical people?" demanded Arthur Weasley. Hermione puffed out air and called,

"The Dark Lord does not need to negotiate the specifics of his vision whilst you've got a wand pointed at him."

"The Lady speaks reason," Voldemort said, his arms still held out to his sides. "Let us all lower our wands."

"_Stupefy!_" Alastor Moody shrieked, whipping his wand through the air. His spell burst forth, aimed at Voldemort, who ripped his wand through the air and deflected the spell so quickly that it exploded into a million tiny flecks of pale blue light.

"Surrender your ambition to be any sort of _Lord_, and we'll let you go… for now," Moody snarled. Voldemort narrowed his eyes and stalked forward a step.

"You are not in a position to be making any sort of demands," Voldemort said, as the street went deathly quiet and still. Hermione called out,

"Moody, give it up. Lord Voldemort's ascent is the best thing wizarding Britain could ever -"

"_Stupefy!"_ Fabian Prewett exclaimed, but Hermione deflected the spell and aimed her wand at Fabian. She furrowed her brow and opened her mouth, prepared to send a Knockback Jinx at Fabian. But then Arthur screamed out,

"You know the orders, Fabian! Do it! Take her out! _Take her out!"_

"If you won't do it, I will!" Moody bellowed. Suddenly Voldemort and Hermione snapped their wands forward and screamed in unison,

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!_"

Voldemort's Killing Curse shot at Alastor Moody, sending the wizard rocketing backward and shooting his corpse through the glass of the nearby map shop. Hermione's curse shot into Fabian Prewett, who went stiff as a board and slumped to the ground like a limp rag. Both spells illuminated Diagon Alley with a violent flash of jade green light, and there was a loud burst of energetic sound fizzling through the shopping street as the Killing Curses took out their targets.

For a brief moment, there was absolute silence. The stillness reverberated like an echo in a chamber. Hermione and Voldemort held their wands up, their Killing Curses burned out. Hermione panted and stared at her victim. Then she eyed Alastor Moody, remembering how he'd been her teacher, how he'd been a member of the Order of the Phoenix, how he'd died fighting Voldemort in her past life. She sank her teeth into her lip and flicked her eyes to the side, catching Voldemort's gaze and holding it as chaos broke out.

People began to scream and run. People Disapparated all over the place. People ran into shops, pushing and shoving. A window broke, glass shattering. Arthur Weasley grabbed at his dead comrade's arm and screamed at Kingsley to _come on, _that they needed to go _now_. He grabbed Fabian's elbow and took him by Side-Along, disappearing from the spot. Then Kingsley grabbed onto Moody's body and did the same, and still Voldemort and Hermione stared at one another.

Hermione moved numbly then. She picked up her shopping bags, and she nodded at Voldemort, and she Disapparated.

When she came to outside Foss House, she waited for him to appear, and then she waited for him to let down the intense shields guarding up the home. She followed him wordlessly up to the front doors and walked with him inside. Tancy came dashing over, and Voldemort murmured to the House-Elf,

"Tea, Tancy. I think the Dark Lady and I could use some tea."

He took the shopping from her and set it all down in the middle of the foyer, and then he was taking her hand and guiding her through the lower corridor, through the dining room, into the midnight blue parlour. He lit a fire in the fireplace and sat at the piano, and he began to play a series of chords that didn't really feel like a cohesive song. Hermione stared into the fire and listened to him playing, and she murmured,

"I killed a man today."

"You killed a man who was about to kill you," Voldemort said to her. Hermione sighed. She shut her eyes and thought of what they had been saying and doing. _Take her out_. And Fabian had seemed like he had been just about to do it. Moody had been just about to do it. Hermione's life had been at risk today.

"We can't go out in public anymore," Hermione noted.

"No, we can't," Voldemort agreed.

"They'll throw us into Azkaban if they catch us," Hermione fretted.

"Yes, they will," Voldemort nodded from the piano.

Hermione stared at him. "They'll offer a very large reward. There are a lot of people who would give us up. The list of people who are unflinchingly faithful to you is not long enough yet."

"Good thing, then," Voldemort said, "that I've made Foss House Unplottable now, and that we can simply stay here for a while. A little rest will do us good."

His fingers broke out into a peaceful sonata then, and Hermione crossed her arms. She sucked on her bottom lip and thought of young Severus Snape, of unmarred Moody killed by Voldemort before he could murder Hermione. She thought of casting the Killing Curse, of watching Fabian Prewett die at the tip of her wand…

And she realised, as she listened to Voldemort play piano, that she was not very sorry.

"I'll marry you here," she said suddenly. "Abraxas and Sylvie are completely loyal. They'll be the witnesses to the binding."

She watched as Voldemort kept playing and rocked slowly back and forth. He pursed his lips and finally nodded.

"Sylvie will be disappointed."

"The circumstances have changed," Hermione hissed. "We can't have a grand wedding for hundreds of people after committing a double murder in Diagon Alley."

"No, we can't," Voldemort agreed. "So, just us, then. With Sylvie and Abraxas. And Tancy."

"And Tancy," Hermione nodded, turning her eyes back to the flames and seeing her own reflection there.

**Author's Note: Welp. Good thing he transmitted the willingness to unflinchingly cast Unforgivables, huh? But no grand wedding now. Boo. What will their quiet handfasting be like?**

**Thank you as always for reading and reviewing. I go home tomorrow from vacation, so updates will become much more regular and frequent.**


	6. Congratulations

Lord Voldemort stood on the frosty lawn outside Foss House and stared up at the twiggy, wintry remains of an oak tree. He stalked beneath the tree, his boots crunching on the dead leaves that had collected in piles on the ground. He walked with his hands behind his back, his wand gripped in one hand, and then he heard her voice.

"I killed a man."

"Yes, you did." Voldemort turned a little until he caught Hermione's eye. She was walking towards him, looking absolutely resplendent in a thick woolen cape with her hair tied into milkmaid braids. She appeared to be wearing a long velvet skirt, and she was clad all in black, Voldemort realised. She was dark today.

Maybe she would be dark forever. He blinked.

"I am not as sorry as I should be, perhaps," Hermione posited. "He did have his wand pointed at us, but my old self would have tried absolutely everything else. Stunning Spells. Charged Knockback Jinxes. Oppugno Jinxes and silly things like that. And I would have gotten myself killed, probably."

"But you didn't. Instead Fabian Prewett is dead and you are alive," Voldemort said quietly. He neared her and used his left hand to cup her jaw as he narrowed his eyes and demanded, "Are you sorry about Moody?"

She pursed her lips and shook her head. "You did what you had to do."

"Are you sorry about Dumbledore? About Bellatrix?" Voldemort raised his eyebrows, and Hermione shut her eyes. She was quiet for a moment, and then she said in a low murmur,

"Fred Weasley. Severus Snape. Remus Lupin. Nymphadora Tonks. Colin Creevey. Lavender Brown. And Lord Voldemort."

He knew what she was doing then. She was listing people who had been killed, in her past life, at the Battle of Hogwarts. She was listing the people who had died at a battle that would never come to pass if she had her way. She opened her eyes and insisted,

"We must avoid war. There can be no Order of the Phoenix. Not this time around. No more battles in the streets. You need to sic Mulciber, Nott, Avery, Rookwood, and Cygnus Black on this, Tom."

He nodded. He sucked on his lip and said, "I'd like for my followers to be as useful as possible. If I can command those who have shown me great loyalty to help stamp out any sign of opposition through memory wipes, Imperius Curses… we can't leave a trail of bodies, or the Ministry will be all over us."

"Precisely," Hermione nodded. "You need to get control of this before it eats you alive and turns into a war like it did in my lived existence. But that means shifting minds, not murdering people left, right, and centre. You can discuss the matter with Abraxas when he comes for dinner tonight."

"When he brings Sylvie to witness our handfasting, you mean." Voldemort tipped his head and reached for Hermione's hand. "We are getting married tonight, you and I."

She stared at the ruby ring on her left hand and asked gently, "Are you very certain that I am not a bigamist? That I'm not still married to Ron?"

"Ron isn't even born yet; how could you be married to him?" Voldemort snapped rather tightly. "No. You're not married. You're _mine_. My Dark Lady. You've said it before, time and time again, that you belong to the Dark Lord. Is it true, Hermione?"

She raised her eyes to him and looked so beautiful that his stomach ached. She nodded and whispered,

"I belong to the Dark Lord."

* * *

Abraxas and Sylvie were late. Two minutes late, but, still, Voldemort was pacing anxiously in the midnight blue parlour as he waited for them to arrive. Hermione was coming down once Abraxas and Sylvie had come; Sylvie would go upstairs to fetch her down. So Voldemort was alone, stalking in front of the marble fireplace like a caged rat. He finally plunked himself down at the piano and began rather angrily drilling out chords of a Prokofiev piece that his orphanage matron had prohibited him from playing because it had been "distasteful."

"My Lord, sir?" He could just barely hear Tancy's little voice exclaiming over the violent piano, and he looked up to see the House-Elf jumping up and down, trying to get his attention. Tancy had clad herself in a neat little black velvet creation Hermione had made for her for tonight, and it looked rather funny and odd and just a little adorable on the creature. Voldemort raised his brows at Tancy, who cried out, "The Malfoys is here, My Lord! I is bringing them in for you, sir!"

"Yes. Thank you. Send Madame Malfoy up to get the Dark Lady." Voldemort stood from the piano bench, and he straightened his tuxedo robes. He tugged at his sleeves and at his waistcoat, smoothing and straightening until everything was just so. He cleared his throat and walked to stand in front of the fireplace, and then he saw Abraxas Malfoy striding through the arched doorway, looking regal. His ice-blond hair had been pulled back into a queue, and he was wearing very formal black brocade robes that managed not to upstage Voldemort but still exuded ritual. He held his hands out and then bowed very respectfully as he entered the room.

"My Lord," he murmured. "What a marvelous occasion. How very honoured Sylvie and I are to be a part of it all."

"Yes, well. There would have been a grand wedding, if our enemies hadn't confronted us in Diagon Alley," Voldemort said primly. "I'd like you to organise a squad of people with access to The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, to other important records, to the _Daily Prophet…_ people who hear things and know things. I want you to have these people root out anybody who's got a bone to pick with me. Anyone who seems like they're going to act on their disappointment with me needs to have their mind altered. No more violence."

"Of course, My Lord," Abraxas nodded. "And you should know that Rookwood and Yaxley have already done all the work fully expunging yours and the Dark Lady's records at the Ministry. As far as the Ministry of Magic is concerned, what happened was self-defence. There are no active warrants for arrest, as of today. No bounties."

"Well, that is a relief," Voldemort sighed. "Hermione will be glad to hear it."

"Sylvie's telling her," Abraxas nodded. "We thought she might want to know, before her wedding, that she is not a wanted criminal. The Wizengamot ruled this morning that you were on the receiving end of an attack and that you had no choice but to cast an Unforgivable."

"I thought they didn't make those sorts of exceptions," Voldemort said, narrowing his eyes, but Abraxas said with a little cough,

"It's amazing what a room full of easily-influenced people will do without Albus Dumbledore there dictating their every move, My Lord."

"Quite so." Voldemort was pleased then. The incident in Diagon Alley had dominated headlines in the _Daily Prophet,_ and apparently opinions on what had happened were quite mixed in the public. Some had been very afraid that one of the Killing Curses could have hit an innocent bystander. Others understood the position Hermione and Voldemort were in. Some people interviewed thought the enemies who had attacked Voldemort were insane, and stressed that Voldemort's message for Britain was right and just. Others expressed scepticism about just who this climbing "Lord Voldemort" thought he was.

"The bride has arrived!" Sylvie Malfoy's voice rang out, and Voldemort snapped to attention. He watched as Hermione followed Sylvie into the midnight blue parlour, and suddenly he couldn't breathe. He tried. Inhale, exhale. In theory, he knew what to do. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not when he saw just how beautiful she was.

She was wearing champagne lace - not white, a very deep cream - with a high neck and long sleeves. The bodice was fitted and showcased her tiny waist. The light-as-air tulle skirts blossomed outward beautifully around her, her train dragging behind her as she walked. Her hair had been pulled into a chignon at the base of her neck, and a great length of champagne lace matching her bodice had been pinned in there, along with a cluster of three peach roses. The lace veil fell heavily down Hermione's back and joined with the train. Her makeup was simple and peach-toned, and she wore the ruby pendant Tom had gifted her around her neck.

She was the most beautiful witch in the entire world, Lord Voldemort thought, his eyes searing like mad, and he was going to marry her. She was the most intelligent witch, the most creative and powerful and damned _capable_ witch, his wondrous time traveller, and he was going to marry her.

"Please, will the two of you stand together for a photograph? I have brought my camera!" Sylvie Malfoy joyfully pulled out a small handheld camera, simpler than most models wizards used. It was a very expensive version of a magical camera, Voldemort thought, and it would produce very good pictures once Sylvie got them developed on Diagon Alley. He moved to stand by Hermione as she clutched a bouquet of peach roses in one trembling hand, and he murmured down to her,

"You took my breath away when you walked in here. I mean it."

"Tom." She said his name so quietly that he barely heard it, but he just reached for her hand and squeezed a little. He realised he was staring at her, and she was staring at him, and then he heard a few clicks and there was a flash.

"But that was beautiful!" Sylvie Malfoy exclaimed. "We'll get a few more after the handfasting."

"Tancy has the ribbons right here. I has them!" burst the House-Elf from where she stood near the arched doorway. Hermione giggled a little as Tancy rushed forward and nearly tripped and fell. She raised her wide blue eyes to Hermione and asked gravely,

"Is the Dark Lady very certain that Tancy should stay? Tancy can go if -"

"Tancy, we couldn't possibly do it without you here," Hermione said, reaching down to touch at Tancy's head. Tancy shut her eyes and said quietly,

"The good Dark Lady is the most lovely bride in all the world. Isn't she, My Lord? Isn't she?"

"So she is," Voldemort agreed. Abraxas took the two ribbons - one silver and one gold - from Tancy and then stood before Voldemort and Hermione. Sylvie gladly accepted Hermione's roses and set them aside, and then Abraxas began said,

"I have before me a witch and a wizard. Is it the intention of these two to be wed?"

"It is," said Hermione and Voldemort in unison. Abraxas nodded.

"Let the witch give the wizard a ring as a token, a sign of devotion from this moment forth. Binding together the witch and the wizard in marriage, fidelity, always in strength, the ring is a symbol of this union forged."

Voldemort pulled out the simple platinum wedding band he'd procured for himself and passed it to Hermione. He let her slide it onto his fourth finger, and she smiled broadly at him. He flexed his hand a few times, getting used to the feel of the wedding ring on there. He liked it. He liked it quite a lot.

"Let the wizard give the witch a ring as a token," said Abraxas, "a sign of devotion from this moment forth. Binding together the witch and the wizard in marriage, fidelity, always in strength, the ring is a symbol of this union forged."

Hermione's hand quivered as Voldemort slid her little gold band on beside her ruby ring. He'd sent away for a gold band with inlaid rubies, and they sparkled and shone beside her pretty red ring. He raised his eyes to her and stroked at her hand with his finger. Then he and Hermione joined their right hands, and as Abraxas used his wand to aim the ribbons at them, magic compelled the ribbons to twine around their forearms, wrists, and hands in a beautiful braided pattern.

"My good Dark Lady," Abraxas began, "Do you promise to be this wizard's wife through good times and difficult times, through happiness and sadness, through prosperity and difficulty, honouring your union all the days of your life?"

"I do." Hermione vowed. She nodded vigorously. Voldemort grinned. He couldn't stop himself, not when he heard those words from her. His ears rang a little as Abraxas asked,

"My good Dark Lord, do you promise to be this witch's wife through good times and difficult times, through happiness and sadness, through prosperity and difficulty, honouring your union all the days of your life?"

"Oh, yes." Voldemort smirked. "I do."

"Then let your magic and souls unite. I pronounce you now as man and wife. So may it be," said Abraxas Malfoy. The ribbons dissolved into thin air, and Voldemort tugged at Hermione's arm. He dragged her against his body, moving his hands until one was at the small of her back and the other was holding her cheek. He kissed her, gently at first and then more firmly. He heard clicking, saw a flash out of the corner of his eye, and he knew Sylvie was taking photographs. Somehow, he didn't mind. Let Sylvie Malfoy capture this. Let Sylvie immortalise the moment Voldemort's mind registered that Hermione Granger was his wife.

She was the most beautiful witch in all the world, he thought, and she'd still wanted him even when he'd been scarred and broken. She was the most brilliant and intelligent and capable witch who had ever lived, and she was _his_. She had come back in time with the intention of destroying him, but instead she'd fallen in love with him. Instead she'd surrendered herself entirely to the Darkness, and now she was burned through with embers for him. She was his Dark Lady, and he would be nothing without her.

Suddenly he realised something. Odysseus had talked about the two of them dancing at their wedding. Her skirts would be too long for dancing. But now there would be no grand wedding. Had he changed the timeline? He pulled back from the kiss, abruptly confused, and watched Hermione's eyebrows furrow in consternation.

"Tancy," he said rather sharply, "was there any post today?"

"Just ten minutes before the Malfoys came, sir," Tancy answered. "I wasn't wanting to trouble you with it, sir; it specifically says on the outside, _Deliver to the Dark Lord After His Marriage._"

"Go and fetch the post, Tancy," Hermione said urgently. "Please."

Tancy Disapparated, and when she reappeared in the parlour a moment later, she held out an envelope to Voldemort. He ripped it open so quickly that he almost tore the letter inside. He unfurled it, ignoring the complete bafflement of Abraxas and Sylvie Malfoy as he did. Hermione read over his shoulder as he took in the very brief letter.

_They play songs on the Wizarding Wireless sometimes that are good for dancing. Just be careful of those lovely skirts._

_Congratulations._

_O.S. and friends_

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading and reviewing.**


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